


A Little Too Hot

by Cartoonicat



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Female Friendship, Interspecies, Interspecies Romance, Khajiit - Freeform, Male-Female Friendship, Nord, Romance, Skyrim - Freeform, Slow Burn, Vampires, imperial - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartoonicat/pseuds/Cartoonicat
Summary: A missing student of the College of Winterhold stumbles across more than she can chew when a dragon ambushes her on her way to Solitude. One thing leads to another, and she eventually finds herself travelling alongside the Dovahkiin. He is far from what she expected of the nordic legend, but it's not all bad.Not bad at all.





	

Wind slapped against her face. A booming roar echoed in her ears. The young imperial ran, legs screaming. She threw herself onto a cluster of icy rocks building the hill in front of her, skin tearing with contact. A blast of blistering heat smothered the spot she'd just stood in, prickling her sensitive skin.

Faster.

Faster!

Her head pounded and it was hard to see, the sun making her world a painful blur. But the girl kept running. She jumped from rock to rock, descending, and stumbled enough to rip her robes a few times.

Another roar - this time, fainter. The girl scrambled towards a shaded alcove and pressed her body against the stone. Blood pounded in her ears. Heart beating like a Forsworn drum, the girl closed her eyes. She listened.

The dragon was gone, more or less. In the distance it cried out in frustration, but it sounded too far away to be an immediate threat. She sighed heavily, relieved.

And then the sound of heavy wings snapped her eyes to the sky. Above her, fierce and true, was a second dragon. Before she could flee it dropped down in front of her, effectively cornering her.

“No!”

She threw up a lesser barrier just in time for the beast to spit fire. Red and orange curled around the small, conjured shield’s edges, and the girl cried out in pain. It was hot. So hot. It felt as though her skin was melting off. She struggled to maintain the barrier, feeling it weaken under the strain. The girl hissed under her breath.

She should have just stayed in Winterhold with her friends. Studied magic in a safe environment, like a good student ought to. But no, she'd had to go play hero. Become cursed with an insatiable desire to prick necks with a pair of newly protruding fangs. Get caught between a winter mountain and the heat of a dragon’s mouth. Was this how she was going to die, as a withered meal to a scaled god?

She'd almost resigned herself to fate when the fire dissipated. The dragon had run out of breath. But it looked hungry.

Almost as hungry as she was.

The girl dove away from a pair of massive jaws. Teeth snapped the air behind her and she felt an uncomfortable chill run up her spine - that'd almost been her. She scrambled past the dragon and ran as fast as she could. It roared behind her, and she felt the ground quake in its pursuit.

Deer, foxes, and other fauna scampered away as the girl led her aggressor through snow-covered grounds. Up ahead was a river. She sorely hoped the dragon wouldn't be persistent enough to dive in after her.

A blast of fire propelled her forward and she screamed. The world moved in slow motion. A painful, blurry world that threatened to go dark as she landed on the rocky bank. She coughed, vision spotting black and another roar on the other side of the water doing nothing to help.

Two dragons, she thought bitterly. With the farms outside Solitude distracted, nobody would notice a young imperial girl getting devoured. Not that they would have, anyway, unless they'd been standing on the far shore to begin with. She stared up at the sky. Dark grey, ridged, scaled and fanged. Hungry. Coming close.

She couldn't tell if she closed her eyes then, or the pain had taken her. The last thing she heard was the beginnings of a shout.It was warm. Not uncomfortably so, but warm nonetheless. The sound of low voices thrummed, sending tiny spikes of pain behind her eyes. She groaned.

\----------------

“I think she is waking up.”

“Gods, she looks awful. What do we do?”

“Fetch some soup and a health potion.” Something warm pressed against her forehead and she shied away. “And perhaps another blanket.”

Blanket? No, no. It would be too hot, then. “Mmmnn…” she tried.

A rough dampness rubbed away the crust sealing her eyelids shut, but left an unwelcomed warmth behind. She slowly opened her eyes, a scowl drawing her eyebrows together. Above her was stone, where shadows danced like the puppets of a flickering hearthfire. And then a face, decorated with coarse black fur and a few scars deep enough to have stories worth telling. Amber slitted eyes stared down at her. Whiskers twitched.

They were so close - too close. Anyone in the room, the house, the area was too close! She forced herself to sit up, letting out a gasp as something sharp pulled against her ribs.

“Stop, stop!” The khajiit guided her head against the pillow, mouth pulled into a visible frown. “You will pull your stitches. Do not move.”

She licked her lips and bit the inside of her cheeks. Gripped the sheets beneath her. The smell of the living was strong after waking up, and she hadn't fed in weeks. It was intoxicating, and she could feel her pupils dilate. Her nostrils flared.

The sound of wood scraping wood caught her attention and she looked over; the khajiit had scooted away. Tossed the cat to the side. She could not tell if the feline’s eyes were sorrowful, for they had no reason to be. It was an odd expression to see on such a square face. Such a bulky body. Very bulky, she realized, for a typical khajiit.

“Kez’hal apologizes. It must be frightening to wake up in a stranger's home,” his voice was a deep rasp, thickly accented with the dialect of Elsweyr. Sculpted bones donned him as armor and her blood ran cold.

“Are-,” her voice came out more choked than intended. “Are those dragon bones?”

Kez’hal wore no helmet, so she saw his eyebrow ridges rise in confusion.

“Your armor.”

“Oh!” The khajiit nodded and knocked a fisted paw against the plates, “Yes, this is dragonplate armor. Kez’hal has the full set.”

There was only one being in all of Tamriel that she knew to wear dragon bones.

“You're the Dragonborn? The Dovahkiin?”

Kez’hal smiled best a khajiit could. She took that as a yes and relaxed back into the pillow. Her bloodshot, black-rimmed eyes stared up at the ceiling once more. Her mind reeled.

The Dragonborn was a cat. It had a sobering affect on her; her pupils shrank and the blackness of her eyes receded a bit, to a dull wash of gray. A khajiit, of all things! She'd heard rumors, of course, but nothing indicated they'd actually been true. Especially since she'd never met someone who'd seen the Dragonborn in person. She snorted, thinking of how the thick-headed nords had taken the news.

And then she blanched, though losing more color was near impossible. The Dragonborn had saved her - had taken her home with him. Her breathing stopped. Was she in the Dragonborn’s bed? Oh, Gods…

“Are you alright?”

She licked her lips again, tongue brushing against the concealed canines. “Yes,” her eyes fell on him again, “sorry.”

Kez’hal waved off her apology. “That dragon did not do you any favors,” he mentioned, and all of the bruises, cuts, and burns were drawn to her attention. She felt like horse dung. “Kez'hal would like to know your name.”

“What?”

“Your name. Mine is Kez’hal,” he clarified, not that the latter was necessary.

She relaxed a bit. “Yeah, got that already. My name is Cobia. Cobia Balshur.”

The khajiit nodded. “It is-"

“Alright. Vegetable soup, a health potion, and a wool blanket for the patient,” a woman with long blonde hair wandered in, arms piled with items. She smelled delicious. “Even grabbed a bottle of nord mead.”

Kez’hal scowled, “She is in need of more than mere vegetables. And really, Lisette, you bring her alcohol?”

Lisette frowned and set the items on the bedside dresser. “What? I figured she might want a drink after the story you told me.”

“Well-"

The imperial girl shook her head quickly, though more to clear it than anything. “It's fine,” she declared, slowly sitting up, “I love vegetables.” At her wince, Kez’hal and Lisette hurried to help her readjust. She leaned back against the wall, which acted as a headboard. “I’m more of a wine kind of girl, but the thought was sweet. Thank you.”

A smile lit up the blonde’s face before she shot the khajiit a smug look. He huffed, and she took a seat at the foot of the bed. “So,” Lisette began, “what were you doing out in the marsh?” She draped another layer over Cobia, for the imperial was still frightfully cold to the touch. “And in such thin clothing!” She eyed the summer fabric that made up Cobia’s torn robes.

Ignoring the rising temperatures, Cobia stirred her soup in circles. Blew on it a couple times. Stirred some more. “I live not far from here. In Morthal territory. My cottage is just past the marsh, actually.”

Kez’hal scratched his chin and hummed. “Kez'hal believes that plot of land is called Windstad Manor, yes? It is supposed to be, at least. So Kez'hal has heard."

“Eh,” Cobia finally took a sip of the broth after letting it cool to lukewarm, “it's more of a Windstad Cottage.” The savoury scent of the soup worked as a decent distraction from other, more pesky, olfactory sensations.

“Just started building, huh?” Lisette asked, “Must be rough out there, with the weather.”

“I don't mind the cold much,” Cobia confessed, taking another sip.

“You picked the right place to settle down then,” the blonde said. She was pretty up close, Cobia realized, with softened features and only a few signs of age. Much better than herself, even though Cobia was barely nineteen. “Kez’hal is covered in fur and he's always complaining!”

Kez’hal hissed. "This armor absorbs the cold.”

The blond rolled her eyes good-naturedly, before standing. “So you say, yet you keep wearing it.”

“I am not usually this far North…”

“Anyway,” Lisette tugged him up from his seat - to which the cat gave a weak protest - and shot Cobia a smile, “We'll let you rest. Once you finish, pop that potion and try to get some sleep.”

“Alright.”

Kez’hal pulled his arm from Lisette’s grasp and dipped his head to the imperial. “We will check on you later, but you may call for us if you need anything - we will not be far. Do feel better."”

“Thank you. Both of you,” Cobia gave them a reassuring smile. And then they left, leaving her in the dark room. The incredibly warm room. Quickly, she stripped the layered blankets away and set the bowl of soup aside. The sweat on her body began to cool, and Cobia sighed. Her stomach tightened. Grumbled.

She was starving, but there was no way to feed, now.

**Author's Note:**

> ***I figured Skyrim, since it has that medieval setting feel, would be more lax about their drinking ages. Cobia is nineteen, but it would not surprise me if sixteen year olds were drinking it up in a realistic Skyrim world. If this offends you, I apologize. ***
> 
> Soooo, this is my first Skyrim fanfiction - and also my first work on this site. I've written many a drabble and a few unfinished multichapters, so I have somewhat of an idea of what I am doing... Let's hope, anyway!
> 
> I was suddenly inspired to write this after my subcharacter on Skyrim was ambushed by two fire dragons on her way to Solitude, during stage 3 of her vampirism and with no follower.
> 
> I. Was. Terrified!
> 
> Anywho, after jotting down the beginning scene, I began to wonder: "What would happen if Cobia met my main character? Would he save her?" The answer was definitely. And, since I have not had Cobia advance in the dragonborn questline at all nor do I intend to, she is merely a lonely vampire.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter as much as I did writing it! Thanks for reading ^~^


End file.
